


5-4-3-2-1

by elisela



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christopher saves the day, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23422642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: For all the times that Eddie has practiced getting into his turnout suit in record time, he never bothered figuring out how to get out of it just as fast. He would be regretting that if he could think about anything other than the fact that Buck went over the pier rail twenty-six seconds ago, and disappeared into the dark water seventeen seconds ago.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 51
Kudos: 1181





	5-4-3-2-1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly don't even know what I'm doing. I'd like to thank "not working" and "quarantine" for encouraging me into a boredom so bottomless that I can't help but write.

For all the times that Eddie has practiced getting into his turnout suit in record time, he never bothered figuring out how to get out of it just as fast. He would be regretting that if he could think about anything other than the fact that Buck went over the pier rail twenty-six seconds ago, and disappeared into the dark water seventeen seconds ago.

_Get in._

_Get to Buck._

He feels like he’s in quicksand. Everything is slow, everything is a struggle. The air is thick and hot and heavy as he stumbles out of his boots, turnout discarded on the wooden planks behind him. He knows he’s yelling Buck’s name, can feel the persistent scratch of a scream in his throat, but there’s only white noise in his ears and the frantic rhythm of his own heartbeat in his head. The rail is rough under his calloused hands as he flings himself over it, headfirst into the dark, waiting ocean below. 

Chim hits the water just a second before him. 

The cold shocks him, forcing breath out of his lungs and sending a thousand tiny goosebumps crawling up his arms. He breaks the surface, gasping in lungfuls of air as he turns, scanning the water for a hand, arm, helmet--anything that could be Buck. 

There’s nothing. He didn’t think there would be. Buck was in his turnout when he went over, and the heavy, fire-resistant material is likely dragging him down, down, far away from Eddie and the fading sun. 

_Focus._

_Find Buck._

He has no gear. No light to cut through the dark waves, no tank to help him stay under longer. He has to rely on his outstretched hands, grasping at nothing but water, searching for something solid, something heavy, something alive under his palms. He pushes himself down, reaching, reaching, as far as he can before he has to break with nothing but the push of the waves sliding through his fingertips. 

_Again_.

_Again._

When he surfaces the next time, it’s to hear Hen screaming his name from the pier. He follows the line of her outstretched arm to--

 _Buck_.

Chimney has him, barely keeping the both of them above water. It feels like it takes half a lifetime to make it to them. 

“Not breathing,” Chimney gasps out. “Breathe for him. Tilt his head first, get the water out.” 

The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time they make it to the shore. The world is still slow around him, every step takes a monumental effort, the ocean trying to reclaim its favorite son even as Eddie and Chim struggle in the shallow water. Hen and Bobby are on them before they’re even up to their knees, pulling Buck onto the warm, dry sand and getting to work. The breeze feels like knives against his skin but Eddie ignores it, getting as close to Buck as he dares, terrified of being in the way and terrified of not being close enough. For the first time in years, he closes his eyes and prays, pressing a palm against Buck’s thigh, desperate to keep contact with him.

_Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia, el Seor es contigo._

His eyes fly back open as Buck coughs, splutters, and comes to with Christopher’s name on his lips. He’s trying to sit up, looking around wildly, hands scrabbling in the sand. “Christopher,” he gasps out. “Have you seen-“

“Christopher is safe,” Bobby says. 

Eddie watches, useless, and realizes he’s trembling from head to toe as Bobby eases down behind Buck, pulling Buck back against his chest. He feels empty, all the energy and fight draining from him as he slowly realizes that Buck’s alive, he’s breathing. He can’t stop shaking. He forces his hands from Buck’s thigh to his forearms, pushing himself in closer, sliding his hands down until he can intertwine Buck’s fingers with his own. 

He wants to be where Bobby is. His body needs Buck’s against him, but if this is all he can get, he’ll take it.

His son’s name is ringing in his ears, pushing against the buzz that’s been in Eddie’s head since the crane knocked Buck off his feet. Buck is struggling, desperate to move, begging, and Eddie slowly realizes that they might have gotten Buck out of the water, but they have yet to save him.

Time rushes back in. 

Buck is screaming Christopher’s name, looking past all of them, seeing water, debris, _death_ all around him and Eddie does the only thing he can do--he listens to his body’s need for contact. He swings one leg over Buck’s, nearly straddling him, letting go of his hands and pressing his palms against Buck’s chest, pushing him backwards into Bobby.

“Buck, baby,” Hen says, “you gotta come back to us. We’re here, Buckaroo. Everyone’s okay.” She looks at Eddie and Bobby, and up at Chim. “His pulse is racing,” she says.

“Listen to my voice, Buck,” Chim says. “Look around you. Tell me five things you see.”

Buck looks right past them, his eyes searching. Eddie’s not sure he knows they’re there at all.

“Tell me five things you see, Buck,” Eddie repeats. His knees dig into the sand on either side of Buck’s thighs. When Buck chokes out Christopher’s name again, Eddie brings one hand up to Buck’s face, cupping his chin and forcing his gaze. “He’s not here,” he says, struggling to moderate his tone, to keep it gentle. He’s frantic, desperate for Buck to come back to him, to stop reliving this nightmare. “Tell me five things you see, Buck.”

Buck blinks, swallows hard. He looks at Eddie like he’s seeing him for the first time. “You.” His voice is roughed by water, sand, sheer desperation.

“Good,” Eddie says. He moves his hand, slides it to cup Buck’s cheek, rubs his thumb against the soft skin by the corner of Buck’s mouth. “Keep going.”

Buck’s eyes stay on Eddie’s as he draws in a shaky breath. His eyes close, he breathes again, twice, three times. “Your shield,” he says when he opens them again, letting his gaze fall to Eddie’s unit shirt, the 118 shield and his name placed right over his heart. “Diaz. Hen’s boots.” Finally, shifting his gaze to slightly past Eddie’s shoulder, “the sun.”

“Four things you can touch,” Chim says, and when Buck doesn’t respond, Eddie relays it in a whisper meant just for him. 

“Sand,” Buck says quietly. “Bobby’s arms. Boots.” He looks down at his own hands, flexes them and balls them up before moving one to rest against Eddie’s chest. “You.”

“Three things you can hear,” Chim says. 

Buck’s breathing has slowed, almost returned to normal. He’s watching Eddie again. “The waves. A plane. Eddie’s voice.”

“Two things you can smell,” Chim says. 

“Diesel,” Buck says. “The burger place across the street.” 

“One thing you can taste.”

“Salt,” Buck whispers. He scratches his hand against Eddie’s shirt, just a little. “I need to see Christopher.”

“Chris is safe,” Eddie repeats. “Buck, he’s safe. He’s with Abuela. It’s Sunday, they’re making Menudo and tamales and when I pick him up, she’ll force me to take some home, just like she does every Sunday. Everything is fine.”

“I know,” Buck says. “I know what you’re telling me. I know you’re right. But I—I can’t—I can’t stop _thinking_ , I can’t stop _seeing it_. I see him underwater. I see him struggling.” He moves, wraps both hands around Eddie’s arms and pulls him in closer. “I need to see him _breathing_ , Eddie.”

When Eddie finally looks up, Hen’s holding her phone out to him, and Eddie thanks God that out of the three phone numbers he has memorized, Abuela’s is one of them. 

It’s Christopher that answers, his big grin filling the frame. “Hi H—Dad?”

“Hey buddy,” Eddie says. “I was hoping you could help me out. Remember when you used to call Buck because you were scared and wanted to see if he was okay? Well, Buck’s a little scared right now and he needs to see his Superman. Can he see you?”

Christopher is peering at the phone, his smile gone. “You’re—you’re all wet.”

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, I am. Chris, Buck is a little scared because we were in the water and it made him think of some bad memories.”

“Give Bucky the phone,” Christopher says. 

The relief on Buck’s face when he sees Christopher takes Eddie’s breath away. “Hey Superman,” he says. “I miss you.”

“I am safe,” Christopher says. “You saved me and dad saved you.”

“Yeah he did,” Buck says quietly. “The whole team saved me today, buddy. But I still needed to see you.”

“You need a hug,” Christopher tells him. “Dad will—he will give you a hug and k-kiss from me. And later I-I will. You’re gonna be alright, kid.”

Buck nods. “I was alright as soon as I saw my superhero,” he says. “Love you, kid.”

“I love you, too, Bucky,” Christopher says. Eddie flips the phone around, takes in the sadness etched on his son’s face and feels his heart give out for the second time that day. “Dad,” Christoper whispers, “don’t forget his hug and kiss.”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie says, and because a promise is a promise, he moves his arm out of the way and grabs Buck, pulls him in until he can feel Buck breathing into his neck, and slides his arms around him. He feels someone gently slip the phone from his grasp and uses his now free hand to caress the back of Buck’s neck. “You scared me, kiddo,” he says, turning his head and pressing a kiss against Buck’s temple. Buck snorts softly against him.

“I don’t remember what happened,” Buck admits. “You should probably check me for a concussion.”

“We’re gonna check for you a few things, Buckaroo,” Hen says. “Just had to get you breathing first.”

Eddie, the side of his mouth still pressed against Buck, kisses him one more time before he lets go, leans back, and struggles to get up. He thinks time might slow again, but this time it’s just his weary bones that want to settle back into the sand, his exhausted body that wants to take up residence beside Buck forever. He reaches a hand out, but Bobby’s already standing, pulling Buck up with him.

“Time for the 118’s monthly hospital admittance,” Chim says brightly, his voice a sharp contrast against the gentle way he cups Buck’s elbow to help steady him. “Come on, we’ll get you checked out in the rig. Who had Buck for April, anyone?”

“My money was on Bobby,” Hen says. “Guess this month wasn’t mine to win.”

“Eddie won,” Buck says. “He bets on me every month.” His grin is a shadow of his normal expression, but it’s there, and when he looks at Eddie he adds, softly, seriously, “I think he knows I’m a sure thing.”


End file.
